


laced and undone again

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post 3x13, Rescue, pre 3x14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was fast approaching his breaking point, the edges of exhaustion and defeat about to take him, his body sagging against the crackling and sizzling wire, when he heard it. That jackhammer heartbeat, instantly recognizable. It was the last thing he heard before he slipped under.</p>
            </blockquote>





	laced and undone again

**Author's Note:**

> Actual prompt from [my mom](https://twitter.com/theAngieDarling); "Stiles finds Derek and Peter and Derek thanks him nom nom nom." So this was just an excuse to write porn, aiiiiight. Unbeta'd, all errors are my own fault.

Derek was fast approaching his breaking point, the edges of exhaustion and defeat about to take him, his body sagging against the crackling and sizzling wire, when he heard it. That jackhammer heartbeat, instantly recognizable. It was the last thing he heard before he slipped under.

Next thing he felt was cool vinyl under his stomach and frantic scrabbling around his wrists. He seemed to be moving, he could feel the motion, but his body was still, curling in on itself.

He drifted in and out, his skin burning, stinging, hot and slick, before suddenly coming to, trying to sit up with a gasp, only to be pushed down again.

“Don’t you dare move, Derek, or I swear to god I’ll-”

“You’ll do _what_ , Stiles,” Peter said glibly, from somewhere in the vicinity. There was loud crash and Derek’s world was shaking and that voice – _Stiles_ – cried out again.

“Jesus Christ, Scott, easy on the speed bumps. You do realise this thing was built in the eighties?”

He was crammed into the back of the Jeep, Derek realised, and he’d never been so happy for it. His stomach clenched when he realised that it was Stiles he was mostly draped over and again, he lifted his head weakly.

“What-”

“Stiles figured out what was going on when you didn’t text us back. Would have found you sooner except he couldn’t-”

“UM, we had some trouble getting contact with the people who might know where you were,” Stiles interrupted, with a swift kick to the back of Scott’s seat. Derek was confused by the obvious deflection, but then the skin of his back felt like it was on fire again, and he was sucking in lungful after lungful of air in distraction.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, “Your back looks like a lattice from the fence you were chained against. And there were ropes tying you down laced with wolfsbane. It’s gotten in some of the burns and cuts and they’re not healing so I’m trying to flush it out. I’m seriously getting sick of wolfsbane. So unoriginal.”

Derek nodded, turning his face into what he realised was Stiles’ thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“You’re gonna be fine, Derek,” Stiles said again, sounding painfully unsure as cool fingertips crisscrossed down Derek’s back, and then he lost consciousness again, glad for it.

 

When he woke up again he was in an unfamiliar room, with familiar scents. Scott, Isaac— _oh._ He figured he was in the McCall house, seconds before Melissa entered the room.

“Ah, you’re awake,” she said, “Good.”

Scott explained that Derek hadn’t healed like Peter because he was still week from the revert to beta from alpha, how he’d been sleeping and healing on and off for three days while Scott’s  mother checked in on him.

“Where’s Stiles?” he asked. Scott gave him a strange look, and sat back.

“At home,” he answered slowly, “Getting some rest. I hope. You should to.”

Derek slept, and made a mental note to send Melissa McCall flowers or something, because she was an actual angel.

 

He dreamed about long, slender fingers against his skin (for the umpteenth time) and woke up with a sigh. It was raining hard against the windows of the apartment, and his clothes were stuck to his skin in the humidity of late August California.

 

The intercom buzzer  was the most grating noise Derek had ever heard (including the scream of a banshee, remember), so he might have snapped a little bit when he held down the receiver button and said, “You know, you only need to press it once.”

“Whoa, grumpy as ever,” a tinny version of Stiles’ voice came through the speaker, and Derek’s heart did an unexpected flop that left him staring at the intercom for a moment, before he buzzed Stiles in without another word.

The kid showed up less than a minute later, panting, so Derek knew he had to have sprinted up the stairs, and the more he thought about it the more he liked it. So he stopped. Or, tried to stop.

It wasn’t exactly hot out, but it was clammy, and Stiles practically glowed out of his skin, summer-tan and flushed and dewy under a heather grey Henley, just starting to sweat. The scent filled Derek’s lungs, head, thoughts.

“Nice place. Scott said you left his house once you were strong enough,” Stiles said, without even a hello, “I didn’t think you’d go back to the loft so Peter told me where you were. You look better.”

“Thanks to you,” Derek said, before he could stop himself, and Stiles leaned back against the door, flushing.

“That’s me, y’know. Constantly running around, saving your wolfy ass. Hah.”

Derek tried to hold back a snort and failed, watching a smile flicker back across Stiles’ face.

“Thank you,” Derek said, “I mean it.”

Stiles nodded, lips curved, eyes soft, “Are you staying? In Beacon Hills?”

“Can’t stay away,” he tried to say it with some form of satire, some hard edge to his words as if he had somewhere better to be. But the words came out soft and honest, and just for Stiles.

Stiles swallowed, raised his fingers to touch his jaw nervously, and in his mind Derek saw those same fingers skidding over his body, blunt nails fumbling against the skin for purchase, slipping against the sweat. It was just a flash of a memory, of a dream, but he felt the heat in his face like flames against his skin. The thought made him shudder.

“I wonder why,” Stiles said, eventually, intentionally, and Derek only took one step towards him but the space between them closed dramatically.

“Me too,” he said, and yeah, he wondered how the hell Stiles, _Stiles_ , the most human person he’s ever known, has been the one managing to keep him alive all this time. He wondered how someone so defenceless was so undoubtedly his defender. He wondered how the hell Derek had somehow fallen for him in just the few months they’d known one another.

Stiles, never a pawn, made the first move and caught Derek’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tugging him forward into a blindingly hot kiss, open mouthed and almost violent with the way Stiles bit at his lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. Derek crowded him up against the door, fists in his shirt as he wondered just who the hell taught Stiles to kiss like that, because he would have to send flowers to them too.

Stiles’ fingers hooked into the belt loops of Derek’s jeans and pulled him forward as he rolled up against him, breaking the kiss long enough to slip out of his shirt before Derek ripped it off him anyway.

“So this is happening,” Stiles mumbled, and Derek laughed, nudging his nose against Stiles’ jaw until he tipped his head back, fucking _bared_ his neck, and Derek’s wolf circled inside of him, eager and wanting. He closed his fingers around Stiles’ biceps, against the tan line of t-shirts and short-sleeved button-downs, as he shifted them away from the door, collapsing onto the couch in a mess of frantic limbs.

“Yeah it’s happening,” Derek replied, _(“about time,”)_ as he lifted off his shirt, Stiles’ impatient hands against the buckle of his belt, getting his jeans and boxer briefs down around his thigh without a single fumble.

“Christ, you even have a beautiful dick.”

The comment was so _Stiles_ that Derek laughed, really laughed, as he pushed Stiles down, crashing into his mouth again as Stiles got his hand around Derek’s cock. Derek arched into the touch, blood rushing, cheeks flushing, Stiles’ mouth red and raw and open as he looked down between them and watched his own hand stroking Derek, thickening in his grasp, eyes wide and fixed like it was the only thing he ever wanted to see, and seeing Stiles like that- _wrecked_ Derek.

He flipped open the button on Stiles’ jeans – actual clingy denim jeans, wow, gorgeous – and pushed his hand inside, pulling them down enough so that he could press one of Stiles’ knees out and bury his face in the crease of thigh.

Stiles made a noise of loss when Derek got too far out of reach, but hummed out a noise of approval as Derek pressed his nose into the dark hair at the base of Stiles’ cock, elegantly long and surprising like the rest of him, and Derek wanted him in his mouth so fiercely, so he just took.

Stiles let out a choked off moan, one hand immediately cupping the back of Derek’s neck and the other one spread across his own chest as he exhaled a string of expletives, hips lifting into the wet heat of Derek’s mouth. Derek placed a hand down against Stiles’ hip, effectively pinning him, but it didn’t stop him from squirming.

“Jesus, fuck-Derek, _yeah_ , please-” it made sense that even now Stiles wouldn’t shut up, but Derek found it didn’t mind half as much as the thought he would, humming in response. Of course, that only served to make Stiles _louder_. When he had time, when he had patience, Derek wanted to know just _how_ loud, Stiles could be.

Derek breathed in once through his nose and then swallowed thickly as he sank down as far as he could, taking Stiles as _deep_ as he could, and then Stiles’ back bowed, a perfect arc as he groaned out a warning. Derek murmured affirmingly, and that was it. Stiles shuddered as he came with a punched-out moan, blunt fingernails against Derek’s skin like he’d imagined. Derek didn’t pull off straight away, not until Stiles yelped and pushed him away with a full body tremor and a whisper of _enough_.

Stiles pulled him into a kiss, mindless of the taste of his own come, almost _searchingly_ licking into Derek’s mouth as Derek rolled his hips down against Stiles’ sweat-slick skin, and Stiles reached down again, his fist creating a tight channel for Derek to fuck into.

All it took was Stiles’ murmur of “God, you feel so good,” and he was coming with a low groan, drowning the sound in Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ eyes flickered to Derek, and then the stripes of come painting his stomach and the joint between his thumb and forefinger, before he sucked it into his mouth, chuckling at Derek’s widened eyes. Stiles was _single_ and a _virgin_ and it was completely baffling.

He kissed Stiles again, this time tasting them both, and the feel of Stiles’ hands against his chest, stroking softly, made his wolf curl up, content under his skin.

“I’m staying,” he said, and Stiles looked up, smiling almost ruefully.

“God. I hope this is real,” he muttered vaguely, sighing, and Derek felt a pang of confusion, sadness at the strange edge to Stiles’ voice.

“Of course it is,” he said, “You found me. You brought me back. You’ll always bring me back.”

Stiles grinned, laughing against the curve of Derek’s shoulder as he sank down between him and the back of the couch, without bothering to redress even a little bit.

“By the way, you’re giving me a tour of this place,” Stiles said dozily, waving his free arm that wasn’t trapped beneath Derek, “starting with the shower.”


End file.
